Deadbeat
by rainbowthefox
Summary: Héctor never wanted to be a criminal. He just wanted to be a good role model for his hija. So where did he go wrong?


Héctor always wanted to be a great role model for Coco.

He thought being a successful musician would've, at some point, _made_ him a good role model for his _hija_. With all that fame and recognition. He wanted his face to be known among the world - so his girl would be able to point to a poster of him someday and tell her _chicas_ , " _¡Ése es mi papá!_ "

...He really _should have_ listened to Imelda. She warned him before he left. Warned him about how this fantasy he wanted to live would not benefit their family in any way. She was so persistent on setting themselves as ideal parents - abandoning all music in their lives so they could take care of Coco. But Héctor didn't listen. He kept on walking, thinking his pride would someday present himself as a hero to the world.

It never did.

Who did Coco have to look up to _now?_ She had no _papá_ \- no one to sing her _recuerdame_ or play her a melody to sleep every night. She could no longer rub her nose against his goatee or playfully strum the strings of his guitar when he wasn't looking. He was plagued with these thoughts. The reminder that Coco no longer had him in her life. She didn't know that she'd lose him forever that night he left - and that tore Héctor apart.

He knew his existence was in shambles the moment he was declined entry to the marigold bridge. He had high hopes that year...thinking that his beloved _esposa_ and _hija_ remembered to place his portrait on their ofrenda. They just began the tradition a little before he died, planning to celebrate _Día de Muertos_ every year with their new bundle of joy.

He couldn't describe how devastated he was when he learned they didn't display anything. No offering or photo at all - a space completely desolate of Héctor. He was embarrassed, and, most importantly, betrayed. He knew Imelda could hold a grudge if she wanted to - but carrying that all the way to his death destroyed him. Even more than he was over his _hija_ losing him.

He spent the next couple of years going through grief. He went through the denial stage a little longer than he had to. He asked the lady to check _thrice_ that he wasn't on there, and by that point he had agitated the line behind him. He still spent the next couple of holidays convincing himself that they would put his photo up next year.

The rest of the stages? They weren't too pretty, either.

Héctor learned really quickly that the Land of the Dead wasn't all colors and music. He stumbled upon the bad side of Town - getting into a few fights with either some gangs or forgotten thugs. His once intact-suit was ripped, and he was forced to abandon his past life and give himself a new identity. He didn't change who he _was_...just how he presented himself.

So he became a trickster, learning how to escape trouble and use his charm to get what he wanted. It worked for the _most_ part...but for others, it failed horribly. He was lucky enough to find fellow forgotten people that welcomed him as family...but it just wasn't the same. No one could replace his dear Coco.

. . .

Héctor wasn't proud of the things he had done. He became desperate to find some loop hole - to find a way to cross despite not being remembered. Héctor wanted so badly to break the system so he could see Coco. But there was no way to...he tried everything he could think of, only to see his plans come to no avail. He risked himself looking like a fool and a criminal to this world...all because he wanted to go and see his _hija_ just one more time.

So what if they judged him? So what if he got looks when people discovered he wasn't Frida Kahlo? And so _what_ if he heard families muttering names about him whenever he was taken away by the guards? He no longer cared about what people thought. His goal in mind was all that mattered - and he would dress up and dance like a chicken if he had to!

. . . Sigh.

Héctor squeezed the bottle of alcohol in his skeletal hand. He situated himself on a roof atop of some house. He came here so he wouldn't be inebriated on the streets. It gave him a wonderful view of the marigold bridges. He envied the sight...seeing so many happy families all rejoiced and holding hands so they could cross together. He grew empty the more he watched them, and this _Día de Muertos_ just reminded him again of how alone he truly was.

Groggily, his brown eyes mulled over the label of the alcohol. He was far too drunk to read it right, but it was a great distraction from the families below. The skeleton sank to his knees and watched as the blurry sight of houses and orange came into view. He reached out into air - trying to grasp at something that could bring him closer to where he wanted to be.

With Coco...

It suddenly occurred to him. What _would_ she think of Héctor if she came to him now? Would she even recognize her _papá_? What could she gather from a thieving, lying, deadbeat guy like him? What he was now could never be her dear _papá_...the one who dreamed of being on top of the world with his passion for music. The one she had known before he died and became the lowest of everything.

Would she even _accept_ him?

Imelda hated his guts, even if he didn't have any. She refused to acknowledge him and threw 4 shoes at him the moment he tried to rejoice with her. He thought her death would be one step closer for him...but, if anything, it was just a shove away. She wanted nothing to do with her _esposo_...and now Héctor was thinking that Coco felt the same way.

His gaze rested back at the marigold bridges. Even if he _wanted_ to change, there really was no point. Keeping up this charade was the only way he could get to see her...Sure, there was a SMALL chance of it working...but he'd take anything so he could see her again. Even if that meant he'd have to disguise himself as a celebrity and hope for the best.

The skeleton held the bottle out to the sky and steadied himself. He blinked once or twice. He remained still as he tried to gather his thoughts. To sober himself enough so he could try and get to Coco again. To see her and finally get rid of this criminal façade he wore for so long.

"Someday I'll change for you, _hija_ ," He muttered softly to the sky. "Someday I'll be the man you always wanted me to be."

He took one last swig of the bottle. And then it was empty.


End file.
